


The Broom Closet Files

by convallaria_majalis



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2018-05-10
Packaged: 2019-02-23 09:28:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13187211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/convallaria_majalis/pseuds/convallaria_majalis
Summary: A collection of short PWP fics, mostly from tumblr prompts, usually kinky ;) More will be added when/if more are written!1. Breha and Bail give an exhausted Obi-Wan a royal welcome.2. Satine/Obi-Wan - praisekink and very subby Obi.3. Plo Koon comes home to find that his favorite Nautolan has decided to surprise him.4. Satine hashad itwith the beard. (Or: fun with straight razors.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to post these but didn't feel like they each merited an individual work. "Broom closet files" is in honor of my very first piece of smut writing, which took place in a broom closet. I like to remember it (and most of my clumsy early writing) fondly but not in any detail :)

_a weekend with the organas - clone wars era_

***

"We've arrived, sir," said the droid cabdriver primly, and Obi-Wan shook himself awake. A four-week "extended mission" (aka cockup) had taken just about every scrap of energy he had. Evidently someone felt bad for him, because he'd been granted a three-day leave with no obligations.

He intended to make the most of it.

"Bill the Jedi High Council," he mumbled. "They're cheapskates, so include an excellent tip."

The droid beeped assent and opened the door for him, and he staggered out into the late-afternoon Alderaan sun.

Obi-Wan looked around as he walked up the gravel path. The place was more of a lodge than a palace, nestled high in Alderaan's wild mountains—though of course it was stately and elegant as could be. The Organas would never settle for less.

Breha and Bail were expecting him; they stepped out to meet him as he came up the walk.

"Highness; senator," he said, smiling, and gave them the traditional greeting for intimate friends: a kiss on each cheek, followed by a warm hug. He hoped some hidden paparazzi cameras were watching; after all, he had a reputation to uphold.

"Come in, Master Kenobi," said Breha, and he did.

"May I take your cloak?" said an attendant droid, and Obi-Wan thanked them and handed it over.

"3BF," said Breha, and there was a playful lilt in her voice. "Would you please ensure we aren't disturbed?"

"Yes, Your Majesty," said the droid, and rolled away.

She turned back to Obi-Wan. "It's good to see you," she said, placing a hand on his arm.

"It's good to be here. I've missed you both."

"It's been too long," Bail said, and laid a hand on his other arm. Obi-Wan suppressed a grin. It was starting.

"I don't want to waste any time," said Breha, with a glance at her husband, and then she took Obi-Wan's face in her hands and kissed him.

If you didn't know Breha well, if you focused only on how kind and elegant she was, you could completely miss her cleverness, her love of mischief and fun. She teased him with gentle, quick kisses, never quite letting him get what he wanted.

Bail moved behind him, warm and broad-shouldered, and Obi-Wan found himself pressed between them, the closeness igniting a desire he hadn't allowed himself to feel in some time.

"A bit early for bed, isn't it?" Obi-wan murmured.

"We've been talking about this all morning," Bail replied, his mouth brushing the line of Obi-Wan's neck. "We'd like to have you right here, if there's no objection."

"Oh," Obi-Wan said, pleased and breathless. "None at all."

Breha kissed him again, and he could feel the smile on her lips. The kiss was deeper this time, fiery. Bail kissed and nipped at his neck, and between the two of them they soon left him gasping.

Bail pulled Obi-Wan's arms behind his back, held them there with his strong and gentle hands. "You're ours for the weekend," he said, in tones that made Obi-Wan's knees weak.

"Couldn't ask for better," Obi-Wan murmured.

Breha, nimble-fingered, slipped her hands under his layers of tunics and leggings. She was delighted to find him already very much wanting.

"Please," Obi-Wan moaned, but Breha kept her touch light. Always a terrible tease. "Be patient," she told him, her lips on his collarbone.

Obi-Wan trembled. Bail turned his head to kiss him, and he sank back against Bail's chest, helpless between two lovers with soft mouths and strong hands.

"Oh," he gasped, as Breha began to move her hands in earnest. Four weeks without a single moment to himself were catching up with him. "I'm—I can't—"

"It's all right," Bail encouraged. "Come for us, Obi-Wan."

Bail's voice alone could have sent Obi-Wan over the edge. He bucked against Breha's hands; she kissed him hard, not entirely managing to silence his moans. Bail stood steady and held Obi-Wan as he fell back, panting, against his chest.

Breha withdrew her hands from his clothes. Eyes closed, he felt her fingers wet his parted lips.

"Taste," she murmured.

Obi-Wan could do better than that. He took two fingers into his mouth, as far as they would go, and sucked.

"Oh," Breha moaned. "You're wicked, _querido_."

Bail held him while he finished licking her fingers clean, alternately kissing his neck and whispering praise. When he was done, he turned in Bail's arms and kissed him deeply (to do which, he had to rise onto his toes.) Bail moaned, and Obi-Wan knew he could taste him.

"You are so beautiful," Bail murmured. "I can't wait to have you all to myself."

"Me first," Breha reminded him. "We talked about this."

"No fighting," Obi-Wan smiled. "There's plenty of Jedi to go around."

"And a good thing too," Breha added. "Well, what do you say, _queridos?_ Time for dinner?"

"Only if Bail's cooking."

Bail gathered them both into his arms. "Would I do any less for my two favorite people?"

I could get used to this, Obi-Wan thought as he walked into the kitchen, a lover on each arm.


	2. Chapter 2

_obitine, d/s and praisekink - clone wars era_

***

"It's been a long night," Satine said, gently stroking Obi-Wan's hair.

"Yes," he sighed. "You made sure of that."

She smiled and kissed the top of his head, remembering.

"Anything you want," he'd murmured, his head resting on her knee; and so she'd bound him, beaten him, fucked him, denied him release.

Now, exhausted, Obi-Wan sat curled up against her chest, his head on her shoulder and his long legs stretched out on the couch next to her. Simple ties of dark red rope bound his arms and chest, his knees, his ankles.

Satine traced circles on his shoulder with her thumb. "Obi," she murmured. "How are you feeling?"

He sighed and pressed closer to her, nuzzling his face against her neck. "Perfect."

Satine smiled. "You were so good for me," she said. "Everything I put you through, you never complained."

She pulled back so she could see Obi-Wan's face, and he met her eyes with a shy smile.

"I just wanted to please you."

"You did, Obi-Wan." Satine traced her fingers down his stomach, through the pretty trail of auburn hair. "Would you like to please me some more?"

Obi-Wan nodded.

Satine's fingertips brushed his cock, and he turned his head and whimpered into her shoulder. She could see his toes curl.

"It's all right," Satine murmured, wrapping her hand around him. "You've been very good, and I'm going to make sure you get what you deserve."

Obi-Wan relaxed slightly, his whimpers turning into moans of relief at finally being touched.

"There," Satine said. "Good boy. I'm going to take care of you, understand?"

Obi-Wan nodded, and she could feel his breath catch.

Satine had put off the end of this particular scene for some time, drawn it out with further tasks and punishments. He was under an unimaginable amount of stress from the war, she knew. They both were. Anything that took their minds off of that was to be savored as long as possible. But it was late, and much as she would like to, she couldn't keep him here forever. His too-short leave would be up in just a few hours.

She dug her nails into the back of his thigh, into the stinging, cane-bruised skin, and Obi-Wan moaned desperately into her neck. It was a moan of pleasure, which didn't surprise Satine; she'd made him come before from pain alone.

"Shhh," she said, gently stroking the spot, which only made him shiver and twitch. "Obi-Wan. Look at how much you've endured for me. I am so proud of you."

"Miss—I—"

He was evidently beyond words at this point. Satine kissed him, slipping her hand between his legs again, and he moaned and tilted his hips so she could get a better angle.

"Eager?"

Obi-Wan nodded fervently. "Please. Please, I'm so—"

"Pretty little slut," Satine whispered. "Do you know how lovely you are when you beg?"

Obi-Wan gasped. She watched as his eyes lost focus and rolled back.

"Do you want to come?"

"Please," he breathed—and Satine knew that, desperate though he was, she could stop right now and order him to go to sleep without touching himself, and he would do it without a hint of complaint. There was something to be said for Jedi self-control.

But that was a game for another day. Right now what she wanted was this: to whisper "Yes," and lean in to kiss him, to feel him tremble and moan into her mouth, to tease out those last few shivers and gasps with gentle strokes of her thumb.

 _"Mine,"_ Satine said softly—a word that never failed to make Obi-Wan shiver. His head fell back as he caught his breath, and he looked at her with a smile that was half mischievous and half exhausted. 

"Mistress."

"Yes," Satine replied, amused.

"You are... wonderful."

"As are you." She gave him a soft, lingering kiss. "Do you want to be untied?"

"Not yet. Just a little longer."

"All right." Satine tugged a nearby blanket over them both. Her hands roamed idly over his back or through his hair. "I do wish you could stay."

"So do I. Perhaps... after the war is over..."

"Obi," Satine said. If they started thinking about that now, with no end in sight, they might both go mad. "Just rest. We'll talk in the morning."


	3. Chapter 3

_plokit, clone wars era_

***

Humming softly, Plo walked into his bathroom and dropped his cloak next to the door. Then he stopped.

"Hello, Kit," he said. "Am I interrupting?"

It wasn't so odd to find Kit in here; after all, they shared a room, and more importantly a bed. It was just that he wasn't usually in _this_ position unless Plo had something to do with it. He was kneeling in the deep bath, in waist-high water—and he must have been planning for Plo's return, because he'd used their designated 'play' cuffs to bind his hands behind his back, and he was blushing hard.

"Were you waiting for me?" Plo asked.

"Mmm." Kit looked up at Plo and licked his lips. "Why don't you come in?"

Plo stripped at somewhere close to lightspeed and joined Kit in the steaming bath. "This is a lovely surprise," he murmured, stroking a hand down Kit's green, pale-flecked stomach. "I hope you haven't been waiting too long."

Kit moaned in anticipation, and Plo thought of him waiting patiently, not knowing when Plo would be back and growing more desperate by the second. The soft, rippled skin between Kit's legs, above his opening, was already swollen and flushed blue-green.

Plo's claws were pointed and hard, and so he took extreme care in the way he touched Kit's skin. He teased him with the tips of his fingers—just a terribly light touch at first, but it made Kit buck and moan and spread his legs wider.

"Oh," Kit murmured. "Plo, you tease."

Plo chuckled and nuzzled against Kit's neck. Not for the first time, he wished he could kiss and lick Kit, give him something better than scaly skin and claws. Well, perhaps someday they would visit Kel-Dor, and Kit would be the one in a breathing mask, lying back and moaning softly while Plo eagerly pleased him with his mouth. That was a lovely thing to think about.

Plo nudged a finger inside Kit's opening, and he was thrilled to see Kit tilt his head back and watch his chest rise and fall as he gasped. Plo loved when Kit put his body, his pleasure, in his hands, loved finding out what perfect combination of touches would make him moan, or swear, or beg. Right now, he simply wanted to use that knowledge to make Kit feel as good as possible.

With his other hand, Plo stroked Kit's sensitive head-tentacles, paying special attention to the ends. Kit whimpered and began to shake.

"Drop your shields," Plo murmured. "Let me feel what you're feeling."

Kit obeyed, and the resulting rush of pleasure was so intense that Plo thought he might lose consciousness. They came together, pressed close and shivering against each other, even though Plo hadn't touched himself once.

It was quite possibly the most wonderful feeling in the world.

Gently, Plo removed his hand from between Kit's legs and wrapped his arms around him. He touched his forehead to Kit's as they both caught their breath.

"You are so beautiful," Plo murmured.

"As are you."

With the Force, Plo tripped the cuffs' unlocking mechanism, and they clicked open. Kit immediately grabbed Plo's ass with both hands, grinning.

"Kit," Plo said gently. "You shouldn't cuff yourself like that while you're alone. What if I hadn't come back when you thought?"

Kit smiled. "The key was nearby," he reminded him. "Besides, they're only regulation standard. If you got stuck in a meeting, or if I simply got too impatient, breaking them would have been trivial." Kit squeezed his hand. "You worry too much, Plo. A Jedi must live in the moment."

"That's the voice you use with padawans."

"Is it?" Kit laughed, holding Plo's face in his hands. "Well, my rowdy padawan—how soon do you think you can go for round two?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Satine has _had it_ with the beard.

Satine unwound the towel from her hair and shook it out. "Love," she called, in the direction of the bathroom door. "Would you bring me my wrap?"

A moment, an unzipping of suitcases, and Obi-Wan appeared in the doorway, holding out what she asked for with a smile.

She leaned forward to kiss his cheek—and frowned, irritation sparking.

"That _beard_ ," she said, hands on her hips. "I thought I told you to do something about it before we left."

Obi-Wan laughed. "My deepest apologies. I was cornered by one of the clan leaders and ran out of time."

Satine pulled on the wrap. "You mean to tell me that the silver-tongued duke of Mandalore couldn't evade just _one_ demanding elder? Not even to please his wife?"

He opened his mouth to dissemble, but she cut him off. "Never mind, I don't want to argue. Come here." She led him into the center of the large, blue-tiled bathroom, then stepped back.

"What are you planning, _cyare_?" he asked, a smile plucking at the corners of his mouth.

"You'll find out. Undress for me."

 _Strip_ was fast, utilitarian, an instruction to get naked as quickly as possible. _Undress_ meant a show, and Obi-Wan knew it. She watched his graceful hands unfastening the catch at his throat, the peacock-colored cape falling to the floor. His shirt underneath was a deeper blue, like the ocean at night. The colors— _her_ colors—were a far cry from the Jedi drab he'd worn when she first knew him.

She smiled, watching the silk shirt slide off his shoulders. "Beautiful, darling," she murmured encouragingly, and watched him blush. It didn't take much.

Pants followed, then underclothes, and soon he was standing naked on the tile floor. One hand rubbed absently at the back of his neck.

"What next, love?"

She looked him over. The war, though it had been over for some years, had left its mark on him. On all of them—but Satine didn't mind. She smiled. "Kneel."

She opened the bag of toiletries, hunting around for Obi-Wan's shaving kit. Well, technically it was _her_ shaving kit. Although he'd been out of the Order since the war, it seemed likely that the Jedi hangup about possessions would be with Obi-Wan for life. Buying herself a beautiful shaving set, with engraved razors, fancy soap, and soft towels, and then "letting" Obi-Wan "borrow" it was a tidy workaround. (Fine blond hair and floor length gowns meant she had little use for it herself.) It was the same for his clothes, his beautifully-bound books, and a hundred other objects. She didn't mind, so long as there was some way to coax her love into enjoying a tiny portion of the luxury that came with his place at her side.

There was a wooden bench next to the sink, and Satine set up there, with a bowl of steaming hot water and a pile of soft towels on her lap.

She looked at Obi-Wan, kneeling obediently a few steps away from her, and took a moment to admire him. Everything he'd been through, from his rigorous Jedi training to his grueling years as a general, and he still had more trust, more intimacy to give her—and he would, whenever she asked. Simply because it pleased her.

"Come here," she said.

He shuffled forward, swaying, until he was at her feet. Satine's heart fluttered when he looked up at her. She reached out, taking his head in her hands, feeling him relax as she caressed him.

"We're going to take care of this," she explained, scratching her fingers through the beard.

"All right," he replied, smiling. He had that look on his face, the mix of arousal and satisfaction that came from simply putting himself at her feet. It was a good look on him.

Satine ran a hand through Obi-Wan's hair, pushing it out of his eyes. She pulled out the electric trimmer, starting under his left ear and working across his jaw until the mess was down to a manageable length.

"Better already," she murmured, setting it aside. She picked up the cake of fresh-scented soap.

"Satine—" Obi-Wan asked. "You _have_ done this before, right?"

Satine tsked. "Do you trust me, _cyare_?"

Obi-Wan ducked his head. " _Gar ke'gyceri ner kad bal jate'kara_. Of course."

"Good," Satine said simply, although his words made her heart flutter. _You command my sword and my destiny._ It had been the traditional pledge of loyalty in the old days, used when affirming dedication to a leader or promising one's services in repayment of a debt. But between the two of them, it had come to represent something more personal, used equally in moments of desire and affection. It was Obi-Wan's way of telling her, without a doubt, that he was hers, and nothing pleased her more than when she heard it.

Besides, hearing Mando'a on his lips always made her smile. It was another reminder that he belonged here, with her, and he intended to stay.

The soft-bristled brush swirled the soap into a lather, and Obi-Wan closed his eyes, letting Satine tilt his face this way and that as she worked it into his stubble. The soap smelled wonderful, like clean air and flowers, and she could tell the memory of the scent was relaxing him the same as it was her.

Satine set the brush down and turned back to the kit, letting her fingers trail over the collection of razors. There were a few different kinds; she chose one with a dark wood handle and a gently curved edge. She inspected it, ran it over the strop a few times to make sure the edge was perfect.

"There," she hummed.

Obi-Wan looked from her to the razor, the edge of it so sharp it was practically singing. She heard his breath quicken, and he swallowed.

"Hold still, pet."

"Yes, Mistress," Obi-Wan breathed, and she began.

One hand in his hair held him in place; the other worked the razor carefully at the corner of his jaw, cutting a neat line into the hair by his ear.

"Will you be good for me?" Satine asked idly. She had no doubt he would, but she liked to hear the question answered.

"Yes, ma'am," Obi-Wan murmured.

"Don't speak." Satine concentrated on the curve of his cheek, rolling her wrist just so to follow it. "I need you as still as possible, understand?"

She waited, watching him calculate his next move. Her question demanded an answer, a quick one, but she'd just forbidden him to speak or move. He settled on a barely-audible "mm-hmm."

"Good boy." And to think he had such disdain for politicians. Satine placed her fingers against his jaw, angling his head where she needed it, and started in on the stubble around his mouth.

It was a _terribly_ pretty mouth.

"Do you know what I'm going to do with you?" she murmured. Obi-Wan waited; she felt his shallow breaths on her hand. "Once I have you clean-shaven and soft for me?" She wiped the razor on the towel, pausing for emphasis before making another pass on his upper lip. "I'm going to put that lovely mouth to work, pet. I'm going to keep you on your knees until I'm satisfied."

Obi-Wan's body jerked, though he made a great effort to hold himself still. The razor might have cut him—but that she had anticipated this, and pulled the edge away.

She clicked her tongue. "Aren't you impatient, _cyar'ika_."

"I'm sorry—"

"Hush." Satine slipped her leg between his, moving slowly and steadily until she was pressed up against his cock. Obi-Wan gasped, eyes going wide and pleading.

"I thought I told you to stay still."

"Yes, Miss—"

"And _quiet_."

She tilted his head back, exposing his throat. He shivered slightly, which made her smile—he looked so lovely like this, with the soft skin of his neck exposed, trusting her completely.

"Good boy," she hummed, and when she put the razor to his skin she felt him twitch hard against her leg. "That's my _mesh’la_."

The thought struck her that her old clan would have been thrilled to see this: Satine Kryze, with a knife to the throat of a kneeling Jedi. It was everything she had sworn against—but of course, it was really nothing like that at all. That was the duality of their play: the inherent danger of it, the flirtation with violence and horror, while all the time they both knew that she would sooner tear the heart out of her own chest than cause Obi-Wan any real harm.

Of course, she wasn't thinking about that now. She was focused on her tight, steady grip on Obi-Wan's hair, on keeping the razor strokes smooth and clean, on ignoring her aching need to pull him forward and shove his head between her thighs.

"There," she said, when she finished at last. "Is my work satisfactory?"

Obi-Wan raised a hand and rubbed thoughtfully at where his beard had been. "Not bad," he said. "However, if you made another pass across the grain it would be even softer. If _I_ had done it—"

Satine, laughing, dunked a towel in the warm water and pressed it to his face, as much to shut him up as to wash away the soap. "You are insufferable, _cyar'ika_."

Obi-Wan shrugged, unable to deny it, and smiled up at her as she ran her hands over his soft clean skin. Suddenly the need to kiss him overwhelmed her and she leaned forward, tasting traces of soap and then iron as she worried his bottom lip hard.

"Oh, Force," he breathed. _"Satine."_

"Yes, pet?" He was so beautiful, naked and hard and blushing for her. If he asked for anything now, she was sure she couldn't deny him.

 _"Gar ke'gyceri ner kad bal jate'kara,"_ he said again in a rush, and turned, kissing her palm, the inside of her wrist. "Please—"

She knew what that meant. It was time to make good on her plans for him, and he wasn't going to let her forget it. She undid the sash of the gown and pulled him toward her, her hands already tangling in his hair.

"Oh, Obi," she murmured. His blue-gray eyes flicked up to her, even as his soft mouth found and soothed the ache that had been building in her for what seemed like ages. He was everything to her, sweet and beautiful and obedient and strong.

And, most importantly, hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI, I made up that bit about the oath out of whole cloth. That's not canon anywhere, I just like it :)
> 
> Mando'a from mandoa.org, of course.


End file.
